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We sign a lease today – our first lease in ten-ish years. We committed to living here after spending about fifteen minutes inside the condo, which is about how long I spent in my house before deciding to buy it.
Sometimes you just know.
Or at the very least, you don’t want The One to get away.
So in August we move from a home we own to a condo we’re renting, and we’re paying more money to live in less space.
The property manager was very curious about this. “Wait, you own your house?” she asked, looking at my rental application. Under “current landlord” I’d put “me!” and a smiley face.
If I’m going to do something crazy, I might as well use emoticons.
“Why?”
All she said was why. Not Why are you moving, or Why are you renting, or Why are you doing this all bass ackwards?
The way she asked, Why? was shorthand for, What the hell?
Okay not really. She was super nice and most of this conversation took place in my head, but she did ask why we were moving.
“Because we want to live in the city,” I answered. And she seemed content with that.
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